Simple Friendships
by ray4ruffles
Summary: Rachel Berry talked way too much; Mike Chang barely talked at all. But somehow they became best friends, and over time learned life's hard lessons.
1. Kindergarten Age Six

**A/N I was inspired by Mike's statement in Journey ("I was afraid to dance outside my room"), along with my own experience growing up. I guess I just wanted to write someone relatable for those of us that weren't brave enough to be friends with people that needed to be strong constantly. Especially not in grade school.**

* * *

Mike remembered the first time he saw Rachel Berry. She wasn't so unlike the girl she was in high school, except six and in kindergarten. She still dressed in knee socks, skirts, and shirts with big fluffy animals on them. The colors were softer then, more pastel, and her hair was often braided in pigtails with ribbon. However, she was still just as exuberant and eager to participate: within five minutes of the first day of class she'd proudly announced that she had two gay dads, although, since nobody but the teacher knew what that meant, Mrs. Bailey was able to segue away from the subject quickly.

Unlike him, Rachel didn't notice Mike Chang at first. He was very quiet, and would only speak if the teacher asked him to. Most of his answers were in nods or head shakes or shrugs; sometimes he would throw in a few words to clarify. He dressed like a boy: jeans and a tee-shirt of the Hulk or someone. Even his smile was timid, though when she thought about it, very sweet. However, she didn't think about it much at all.

He watched Rachel during recess. She didn't have any friends to play with, but she loved to sing and dance. Sometimes she sang songs he didn't recognize, but often she sang Disney songs that he knew. She stood on her bench, away from the playground, and performed to an invisible audience, beaming as she took her bow. She'd told the class she was going to be a star on Broadway. He didn't know what that was, but it looked to him like she was doing making a good start.

It took him two weeks of watching before he got up the nerve to go stand by her. She was singing "I Just Can't Wait To Be King," and her feet were moving around in a series of steps that looked really neat.

"Everybody look left," she sang, shuffling left. Then, as she shuffled right, "Everybody look right."

"Everywhere you look I'm standing spotlight," Mike sang softly as he performed a fluid trick that caused his entire body to slide next to hers.

Rachel gaped at him in wonder, completely losing track of the beat. She just stared, eyes wide, causing his face to turn red; it had been silly to interrupt her, to think he could play with her. He took a step away, then saw her face light up in a grin as she took his hand.

"Let every creature go for broke and sing," she said, dancing next to him.

He copied her with his own moves, never letting go of her hand. "Let's hear it in the herd and on the wing," he sang smiling, though still timidly.

"It's going to be King Simba's finest fling!" Rachel belted.

And together they sang "Oh I just can't wait to be king! Oh I just can't wait to be king! Oh I just can't wait—to be king!"

They sat down on the bench, both giggling. Rachel's smile beamed out at him, and he decided he liked it even better than her normal smile. He liked how happy she looked.

"I didn't know you performed," she told him excitedly. He just shrugged, shaking his head slightly. He didn't perform really; not like _she_ did.

She shook her head in disagreement with his gesture. "You're good," she assessed. "A little quiet, but still. Do you take lessons?" When he shook his head again, she told him proudly, "My daddies take me to singing lessons twice a week. Then I have tap, ballet, and jazz dancing lessons the rest of the time." She looked at him curiously. "What kind of lessons do _you_ do?"

He gazed at her in amazement. Tap? Ballet? Jazz? He didn't even know what those were, but they sounded hard. He shrugged uncomfortably; he just danced what he felt, what made him happy.

She didn't seem deterred by his unresponsiveness or lack of knowledge about the stage. "That's okay," she told him eagerly. "I think you're really good to have your own kind of dance. Does someone teach you?" When he shook his head again, feeling dumber by the second, he was surprised to see the wonder in her face.

"Wow," she replied, obviously impressed. Rachel worked hard to be as good as she could, but this boy did all that he did just on his own. She decided she liked Mike, even if he didn't say much.

They spent the next two months as best friends. Every day at recess Rachel would take his hand and lead him out to their spot on the bench and they would sing and dance. Rachel did most of the talking, but sometimes he would suggest a song or put together a dance combo for them to do. Rachel loved to watch him when he danced: his face would light up and he would make it look so easy.

Sometimes Rachel would try to copy him, but she often fell down; she just couldn't do the same thing. She never felt bad about falling though; no matter how far away he was when she fell, he was always by her side in the next instant to give her his hand and a smile as he helped her back up.

One day after school he went to her house where he met her two dads. She called one "Dad" and the other "Daddy", so he didn't have to ask how she told them apart. When he shyly asked why she had two, she told him without looking up from her coloring book that it was because her family was special.

Mike wanted to ask about her mom. He knew that everybody had a mom; his cousin Mandy had explained that to him when she had her baby Jamie. However, he looked at Rachel—tongue sticking out in concentration at the pink dress she was coloring—and he looked at her dads, and decided that some things didn't really matter.

The end of their friendship came about just after Thanksgiving. Rachel had suggested that they give a performance for both of their families over the holiday, and Mike had gotten his parents to agree. She had decided they were going to perform "He's a Tramp" from _Lady and the Tramp_ to showcase her singing and his dancing. She'd even had him come up with a part for them to sing and dance to together, and both sets of parents had been very proud.

At lunch, she had shared with him a leftover "Tofurkey" sandwich—a turkey sandwich that wasn't made of turkey. Apparently, Rachel's family was vegan, which she explained meant they didn't eat things like meat or dairy. Mike liked Rachel, but he wasn't sure he'd want to live a life without pepperoni pizza and pancakes.

They'd just sat on their bench, Rachel still talking about the health benefits of Tofurkey over the real thing, when Mike heard steps coming closer to them. His eyes went wide with worry as he looked up to see Noah Puckerman and Finn Hudson walking their way.

He saw Rachel stiffen at their approach, and moved to grab her hand. Rachel was bold and proud, but she wasn't stupid. She knew she wasn't well-liked in her class, and that people made fun of her and her singing. That's why they stayed far from the playground when they played together; to keep from inviting trouble from boys like Noah—or Puck as he called himself—and Finn who made it their job to pick on people.

They'd managed to stay off of their radar for months due to a feud between the boys and a group of blonde girls ironically led by a Latina named Santana Lopez. The two groups, probably the meanest in kindergarten, had made the other kids' lives a little easier by fighting each other for the first couple months. Now, however, it seemed they'd taken a break.

"Mike, you're holding hands with Rachel Berry?" Finn asked in disbelief. "You might get cooties!"

Mike said nothing; he wasn't afraid of girl cooties, especially not from Rachel.

"That's not what I'd be afraid of," Santana jeered, walking towards them with a malicious look. "I'd be more afraid of catching her dads' cooties."

Quinn, her second in command, giggled, followed by titters from the others. "Yeah," she added, making a face. "They're _gay_."

Mike was confused. He didn't understand what it meant really to be gay; his parents had told him it just meant that Rachel's dads loved each other and Rachel very much and were a family together. But the way Quinn said it made it sound bad, and he accidently let go of his friend's hand as he took a moment to figure things out.

Rachel didn't miss the significance of him letting go of her. She knew that she was alone, and in danger of losing her best friend. She wouldn't back down though. She held her chin high and proclaimed, "My daddies do _not_ have cooties!"

"Yeah?" Puck countered, looking from her to Mike. "Then why are you dancing around all of the sudden, Mike? Are you a girl now? Do you want to be a pretty ballerina? Do you wear a tutu?"

The little boy was scared. Rachel of course had showed him some of her dance moves, but she hadn't said that only girls did it. He of course learned much later in life that there were many males involved in dance, but at the time he was a six-year old boy being told that his best friend's dads gave him cooties that made him act wrong.

Mike took a step backwards: away from the kids that surrounded them, away from Rachel. He saw her try to catch his eye, but he was afraid to look at her.

"Mike is really talented—he dances because he's good," Rachel bragged, not realizing that, to Mike, she was making things worse. "He doesn't even _need_ lessons."

"So you dance like a girl without help Mike?" Puck teased, followed by giggles from Santana and her followers. "Maybe you do belong with Freaky Rachel Berry then."

"I'm not a freak Noah!" Rachel shouted.

Puck's eyes flashed up at her. He strode to where she stood and pushed her hard, causing her to fall on the ground. "My name is Puck, freak," he said angrily as he towered over her.

It hurt; Rachel wasn't going to deny it. But what really made her want to cry was the fact that, for the first time since they'd met, Mike Chang simply watched as she fell to the ground; stood there as she was quickly surrounded by laughter and taunting.

Mike couldn't stand it. Rachel's eyes brimming with tears had made things too hard. He ran to the boy's bathroom and hid there for the rest of recess.

He'd let her down. She'd once called him the Fred Astaire to her Ginger Rogers, and even though he didn't know who they were, he knew that that had meant he was really important to her. And she had been really important to him.

He didn't say anything when they went back to class, which wasn't unusual for him. But Rachel, eyes red and puffy, also she said nothing as she grabbed her pencil box and papers and moved to sit by Jacob Ben-Israel, which he knew was _very _unusual for her.

Mike never danced at recess again. In fact, it would be ten years before he felt comfortable dancing outside of his own bedroom again. Puck and Finn, Santana and all of her cronies, didn't bother him anymore, especially when he began hanging out with another quiet boy named Matt. He saw them continually pick on Rachel though; probably because she never let herself be intimidated by their jeering.

Rachel wouldn't back down, wouldn't let them break her. She wouldn't give her classmates that kind of power, let them tear down her hopes and dreams. She would steel herself against all of the bullies and critics and anybody else that would try to stand in her way. Crying over the betrayal of her best friend was the last time she'd cry in front of them, and not just because that was the last time for a long time she would have a best friend (or any friend, for that matter).

At five years old, both Mike Chang and Rachel Berry had realized that sometimes it's not as simple as two people who have fun together being able to be friends.


	2. Sixth Grade Age Twelve

**A/N: So, apparently there's a lot of love for Mike/Rachel pairings, and it was requested I keep the story going. And who am I to disappoint? So, I'm continuing this, hitting a couple different spots in their timeline. Because every overly talkative girl should have her very own taciturn guy.**

* * *

Mike Chang had a secret; something he hadn't even told his best friend Matt Rutheford. Something that was not only embarrassing to tell because he didn't want anyone to know he liked dance, but also because he didn't want to seem like a stalker.

Mike still watched Rachel Berry.

It wasn't like he followed her around. He'd done a pretty good job staying away from her ever since kindergarten. He actually still felt a pang of guilt whenever he thought about it, and it didn't help that she was still a total social leper. He, on the other hand, had actually traveled up the social ladder considerably ever since Matt started convincing him to play sports with the other guys.

However, at the beginning of sixth grade, he saw a notice on the bulletin board advertising a contemporary ballet production at the high school. It had been scrawled over with dirty pictures and messages about how lame ballet was, but he could still read the date and time it took place. He had made an impulsive decision to go, just to see what it was like.

He sat in the auditorium in the back, silent as usual. He was glad Matt was his best friend: the guy hadn't asked any questions when he told him he'd be gone Saturday, hadn't even acted curious. Mike hadn't wanted to lie, but had been more afraid of telling the truth. He didn't want to admit that he missed dancing outside of his room, that he wished he were like Rachel and had someone to teach him stuff that he was brave enough to perform in front of others.

And so he secretly made his way to see a ballet, to see if it was as cool as a six-year old Rachel Berry had made it sound all those years ago.

He didn't know why, but he was surprised to see Rachel there on stage. He'd known all age ranges would be present, but he never really connected the dots. Now there she was, whirling on stage, dancing in a series of steps he knew nothing about. He was even more surprised when a guy came out and started dancing with her. He should've known Puck didn't know jack about dancing, but still, it never occurred to him that guys could do ballet. Or maybe his friend (though when he thought the word watching Rachel, he cringed a little) was right, and this guy was gay. However, as the production went on, Mike saw more and more males on stage—_eight, nine, ten_, he counted. They couldn't possibly _all_ be gay, could they?

For the majority of the time, however, he focused on the production itself. The steps, the lifts, the music. He half-wished he could be up there, showing off his skills on stage. Even if it meant wearing tights, it looked…_fun_. Cool, even. Not the type of "cool" guys like Puck talked about, where they would duct tape Ben Jacob-Israel to the flagpole or give Kurt Hummel a swirly. This stuff looked like it took hard work, like they were expressing something; something like they were going somewhere in life.

He clapped with the rest of the audience as the group exited the stage. He then watched as a petite woman appeared, explaining that the final piece was choreographed by Brianne Carlson, who had received a scholarship to BYU. _Lyrics_, she'd added, _are performed by Ms. Rachel Berry_.

Mike straightened in surprise as a soft melody started and he saw Rachel take her place on the side of the stage. He had to admit: he didn't even watch the dancer this time, just Rachel as she performed to the crowd, and he felt like she was singing to him.

_Think of me,  
Think of me, fondly,  
When we've said goodbye.  
Remember me  
Once in a while -  
Please promise me you'll try._

Mike had a vague feeling of déjà vu as she once again sang a song he didn't recognize in the slightest, and he felt a familiar desire to go and stand with her. Of course he would've looked really stupid in this setting, trying something like that, and so he merely went back to what he seemed destined to do: watch

_When you find  
That, once again, you long  
To take your heart back and be free -  
If you ever find a moment,  
Spare a thought for me ..._

Rachel loved this song. She was ecstatic when Brianne had approached her to sing it, and though she disliked being shunted off to the side of the stage, she appreciated the beauty of the choreography the senior had created to complement the song.

_We never said  
Our love was evergreen,  
Or as unchanging as the sea -  
But if you can still remember,  
Stop and think of me ...  
_

She looked out over the audience, all captivated by the fluid movements of the two dancers at center stage. All except one, she noted in surprise: a small Asian boy in the back of the auditorium. A boy that she hadn't spoken with, had barely seen, for the last six years. His eyes were locked on her as she sang in her corner, and she found herself embarrassed as she quickly shifted her gaze and continued.

_Think of all the things we've said and seen -  
Don't think about the way things might have been ..._

She wondered what had brought Mike Chang here. He'd been integrated into the footballers' circle, present for all of the bullying and spiteful acts initiated by Puck. She wondered if maybe his love for performing had persevered throughout the years, though he seemed more than happy with his current station.

_Think of me,  
Think of me waking,  
Silent and resigned.  
Imagine me,  
Trying too hard  
To put you from my mind._

_Recall those days,  
Look back on all those times,  
Think of the things we'll never do -  
There will never be a day, _

_When I won't think of you ..._

Rachel risked another glance during the instrumental at her former friend. His gaze still penetrated her, and, she noted, looked wanting, almost envious. If she was right, and his current position in the social hierarchy was just a façade, she wondered how he felt about what he'd had to give up to gain it.

_We never said  
Our love was evergreen _

_Or as unchanging as the sea -  
But please promise me,  
That sometimes,_

_You wil think _

_Of me!_

Mike found himself joining the rest of the audience in a standing ovation, and again as the entire company joined the rest onstage. He spared one last glance at his former friend, and then slipped out the back door before the curtain fell.

Rachel changed quickly, rushing out into the auditorium to look for Mike. When she realized he'd already left, her face fell slightly and she sat on the stage in disappointment. She had missed him, no matter what she told herself, and it would've been nice to speak to him again.

And so now, six months later, he had still made it a habit of coming to any dance productions on Saturdays. He'd made it such a habit that Matt didn't even bother to ask him if he wanted to hang out Saturdays after the game; he just let him split with a nod. He still ducked out before anybody noticed that he was there, though he sometimes wished he was brave enough to speak to her again.

He was pretty excited about this weekend: it was a showcase of her school, doing various dances and songs and even a few play excerpts. He took the program eagerly and searched the paper for her name. She was in a few pieces: a dancer in a jazz number, a solo (of course), and a few ensemble performances. She was amazing, as usual, and he was jealous that he wasn't up there too (as usual).

Rachel saw him as she peered out from behind the curtains, like she always had for the last six months. He'd been to every production, had watched her every performance, and bolted before she'd gotten a chance to approach him. She'd simply accepted come to accept it, that for some reason he wanted to watch but never have her notice him. She understood by now that she was destined for hardship in the school caste, though she never stopped hoping that acceptance lay just around the corner.

For him, however, she always put in just a little extra in her performance; as if they were still young, and she was still trying to prove to him that dance, the theater, was still okay. She let her smile dial up a notch as her partner Alex, a fifteen year old that always made her laugh, lifted and twirled her in sync with the others. They finished their routine, her eyes always flitting out towards Mike's general direction, and then bowed, scurrying off the stage.


	3. Sixth Grade Age Twelve cont

After the show, he had to leave through the main entrance, since the exit in the back was locked. He kept his head down, and focused on remembering the moves in his head. That was the other thing he really liked about watching; working the steps into his own interpretation.

As he stepped into the light, he realized he'd been later getting out than he thought; there was Rachel, standing in street clothes, giving her male partner a hug before parting ways. Not noticing he'd stopped, he stared at her as she turned back toward the auditorium, eyes widening in surprise as she saw him.

"Hi," she said shyly. Rachel couldn't believe herself; this was her performance, she belonged here, and _she_ was acting shy? She cleared her throat, putting more confidence in her tone. "Just happen to be in the neighborhood?"

"Umm…" Mike was never really a man of many words, so he just shrugged after a moment. He let his gaze fall, feeling as awkward as he did when he first met her.

Rachel thought it was strange; she felt like she should be furious at the guy; that, after years of climbing the school's social ladder to be a follower of Noah and Finn, to have him barge in on her territory for the last six months and just expect her to be okay with it would make her livid. She should want to kick him in the shins (if she was any sort of proponent of violence, that is).

Instead, she found herself smiling, asking him if he liked the show. He met her eyes with his own version of her expression, nodding, and Rachel and Mike found themselves sitting on a bench outside the auditorium, talking about the different forms and steps, sometimes with Rachel demonstrating a complex movement.

It felt like old times to Mike. Just the two of them, sitting on a bench (though this one was shaded), while Rachel taught him a jazz or ballet step and he'd show her something he'd put together just by watching her. He was happy to see that spark of wonder in her eyes still remained as she watched him dance (she had by now classified it as "freestyle").

Rachel was amazed that he seemed to talk more than she remembered. He asked her about her music, her dance, her partner. He seemed genuinely surprised when she told him that Alex had had a girlfriend for the past year, and she thought she saw a hint of regret when she explained that, for the guys in her class at least, dance was a form of expression that many used, if not to be a star, then at least to get out of Lima. She informed him that more performing arts scholarships were given away to students at her studio than athletes at the high school (or so she'd heard).

Mike had forgotten how much he enjoyed being around Rachel, how easy it was to talk to her (even if she did dominate the conversation; or maybe that was _why_), how he loved to see her smile. He'd also forgotten how easily he lost track of time around her, until his cell phone buzzed with a text from Matt: _we still hanging out tonight?_

He looked down at the text, and then back up at Rachel. She smiled a sad smile, realizing that their trek down memory lane was coming to a close.

He stood, and held out his hand to help her up. She took it, smiling at the gesture, and picked up her bag.

"The younger girls are performing next Saturday," she told him. "But a bunch of us are driving down to Kenton to audition for a production of _Oklahoma!_ and _Giselle_." She paused, looking down, not really wanting to know his answer for her question. "If you wanted to come…"

Mike looked down as well. He wasn't sure how well he could straddle the line he was on, and driving with a bunch of Rachel's type seemed dangerous. He felt awful when Rachel looked up, smiling in an attempt to hide the hurt in her eyes, telling him, "Maybe some other time."

Mike rode his bike back to his place, then packed a bag and rode over to Matt's. His mom had already ordered pizza, and now they were sitting in front of the TV watching _Batman Begins_ for the millionth time. However, this time Mike found himself distracted from the movie, instead thinking about tomorrow morning when he'd be safe in his own room and able to practice the steps he and Rachel had worked on earlier.

Over time, Rachel and Mike seemed to begin resurrecting a form of their friendship. Saturdays he would come to her performance, practice, or whatever, and afterwards they would spend hours talking and teaching and working on bits. It was just like when they were younger, only better.

However, Rachel understood that for him it was a tightrope walk, since he couldn't be seen with her at school, and didn't feel it was safe for them to spend time at each other's house. And so their friendship became close, but limited to these safe hours from afternoon until evening one night a week.

Mike rode home one evening with a heavy mind. Matt had seemed agitated lately, asking him more than once about where he was going to be this Saturday. He'd resorted to lying, given the same answer as he did the other guys (family stuff), but his friend still seemed uncomfortable. When he'd told Rachel after her group's dress rehearsal, she paused before answering.

"I think you should tell him the truth," she said, soft but firm. Mike sighed: she always suggested telling Matt about his secret. She just couldn't seem to see why that was impossible.

"I'm serious Mike," she insisted. "He's your best friend; he knows you're hiding something. I'm not saying you have to go all Gene Kelley, 'Singing in the Rain' on him—" there she went again, making references that made no sense to him "—but you should tell him something real."

She patted him on the arm. "If he's really your best friend, it'll be okay."

Mike hadn't bothered to ask the obvious question: _what if it's not?_ So now, here he was, riding home to meet his best friend, dragging him upstairs and sitting him on his bed. Matt looked hesitant, but curious, while Mike just felt nervous.

Mike sometimes wondered how he and Matt looked to other people. Neither of them said much of anything, not even to one another, and yet they understood each other almost perfectly. He appreciated that now especially; that Matt could sit there, patiently waiting for his best friend to get up his nerve to tell him his secret.

The twelve-year old stood in the center of his room for a moment, trying to figure out how to tell his best friend something that could turn him into just as much of a loser as Rachel Berry was viewed as. He was never brave like her, but he knew that if she could be herself every day in front of the entire school, he should be able to be himself to his best friend in the sanctity of his bedroom.

Mike walked over to his stereo and pushed play. He started nodding to the beat as the Black Eyed Peas came on, blasting "Pump It" through the speakers. He gritted his teeth—it was now or never.

If you asked any day afterwards, he'd never be able to tell you what he had done. He just danced what he felt, a crazy mix of jive and jazz and all sorts of steps that probably didn't have names. He was so focused on getting it out of him that he didn't notice Matt had moved from the bed until he almost bumped heads with him. He looked up and saw Matt standing opposite him, looking on thoughtfully.

He'd known he was going to regret this, but he figured it was too late now anyways, so he threw in a combo that he and Rachel had just put together that day. Much to his surprise, he watched as Matt responded with a series of his own steps.

Back and forth they went, through three minutes and forty-six seconds of song. Matt even threw in some crazy moves that Mike had never seen, was willing to bet Rachel hadn't either. When the song ended, they both collapsed onto the floor, grinning and panting.

"That was awesome," Matt said after a minute. Mike just turned to him and beamed. "You want to go again?"

They spent the rest of the night in Mike's room, each trying to one-up the other as the music blasted around them.

At school, Mike saw Rachel as she walked toward the entrance. He was so excited about that weekend, he grabbed her and quickly steered her toward the dumpster. With a huge grin, he quickly explained about Matt, and Rachel returned his enthusiasm.

"That's great Mike!" she whispered happily. "I knew it'd be okay. I'm so glad for you." And she was; Mike needed a friend besides herself that made him feel like it was okay to love dancing. Additionally, from what he'd told her, Matt could teach him all sorts of moves that she knew nothing about.

Mike started to tell her about maybe taking Matt to see her next show when a voice spoke up from just beyond them.

"Dude, Chang!" Both Rachel and Mike stopped breathing as they turned to see who else but Noah Puckerman and his gang of cronies walking towards them. It was Rachel now who felt a wave of déjà vu as they looked at her in disgust.

Puck strode up next to him. "What are you doing behind the _dumpster_ with _Berry_, man?"

While Mike struggled for words, Rachel saw Matt rush over to the group, and the two made eye contact. For Rachel, it was funny that the two boys were so alike; they could communicate so much with just their eyes, it was no wonder that they didn't speak much.

She sighed internally. Being friends publicly was just never going to be in the cards for them, no matter how much they both wanted it. At least not until after high school, it seemed. She could feel him next to her, torn by the reality of the life he'd chosen all those years ago. Rachel knew it was up to her, and she thought fast.

"Nothing," she replied in a fearful voice as she put all of her acting skills to work. "He certainly was _not_ trying to throw me in the dumpster, so I think I'll just—"

Suddenly she felt a hand gripping her arm, and she could feel the grin searing into her from Puck's face. She steeled her person for the humiliation she had just set up for herself in order to save her friend.

"Awesome idea Chang," Puck said, the others agreeing appreciatively. Mike watched in shock and disgust as Puck and three others grabbed Rachel and, together, threw her on top of the garbage inside the reeking bin.

They laughed heartily and gave each other high fives, clapping Mike on the shoulder as they walked away. Mike met Matt's eyes, and they shared a sad look.

He looked behind them and watched as Rachel pulled herself out of the dumpster, crinkling her nose in distaste. When she saw him looking, she gave him an understanding smile.

Because Rachel Berry was used to being strong; it was a character trait she'd picked up since very early on in life. She was protective of her friend—her _best_ friend—who, despite being popular and nice, just wasn't ready to show the world who he was, although he was able to convince Puck later that throwing _girls_ into the dumpster wasn't really okay. And, as she told him as the three of them—Rachel, Mike, and Matt—watched the sunset the next Saturday evening, she was okay with waiting until he was.

As they sat together Mike felt like a schmuck and hoped the day when he was as brave as Rachel Berry, when he actually _deserved_ to be her friend, would come soon.


	4. Freshman Year Age Fourteen

**A/N: so I started feeling kinda crappy for Mike (and me, I'm realizing I suck as a friend); so I decided to spin him in a more redeeming spotlight. Similar to real life, the school hierarchy is what it is, and he's not ready to go against it, but at least now he's helping Rachel in his own way.**

* * *

The JV football team was having a team sleepover the weekend before school started…or at least that's what they'd all told their parents.

In reality, it was actually a huge party with the Cheerios, JV, Varsity, and a bunch of other popular kids that Mike Chang would neither know nor particularly care about. Matt Rutheford, his best friend, wouldn't be there, and that left his sort-of friends Finn Hudson and Noah Puckerman; neither of which he figured would feel his absence.

So really, at nine o'clock on Saturday night, he was hanging out at Rachel Berry's place. Her dads were gone for the weekend, like usual, leaving her the whole house to herself. Mike sometimes wondered if they didn't mind leaving her on her own because they knew she was responsible, or if, on some level, they knew their daughter's social status was so low almost no one would come to her house even if there wasn't any adult supervision.

He watched his friend as she rummaged through a collection of musicals. He _really_ hoped it was the former.

"You know," Rachel told him. "As much fun as it is to watch _Funny Girl_ in surround-sound with me, I can't help but think you should be with your football friends." She gave him a look, the one that she hoped was encouraging and not masking _her_ desperate desire to go hang out with the people who were the current and future McKinley High School royalty.

He shrugged a classic Mike shrug; the one she knew to mean that they weren't _his_ friends. Mike only ever went to parties, tried out for the team, because Matt did. Rachel sometimes wondered if, had the two of them stayed friends when they were younger, he would've only ended up in theater or dance because _she_ would've pushed him into it. It almost made her glad they hadn't—she didn't want to see that easy smile that he wore when he danced ever leave his face.

Mike, meanwhile, considered her words. She was right, he knew; being a football player meant he was obligated to care about what his teammates thought, meant he should be at that party now, smoking or getting wasted or trying to feel up some girl. He'd much rather be here, watching, well, not _Funny Girl_ really, but a movie in general; and he found it ironic that he knew that Rachel would probably give up her first born to be invited to that party.

The irony of the situation was so funny he actually chuckled: Mike Chang, the popular kid because he was a sheep, wanted a night at home, while Rachel Berry, the social pariah because she was an individual with dreams and talent, wanted to go be at the crazy party with the very people who tortured her.

Rachel looked over at him, sprawled on her bed, laughing at something going on in that brain of his. She smiled and put her movie back on the floor, flopping down next to him. She knew he knew she wanted to go, and that he didn't. She didn't say anything for awhile, just lay next to him as they both stared at the ceiling.

"Saw the letter in the trash," he remarked, trying to change the subject, and she cringed. "Jacob's handiwork?"

"He seems to think that as we are both Jewish, we are destined for each other," she spat, causing him to smile more—angry Rachel was quite entertaining when she was mildly irritated. "If I wanted to date a cretin Jew I could go after Noah Puckerman."

Mike outright guffawed at that picture, causing a suppressed giggle on Rachel's part. He tried to imagine Rachel and Puck together, but it felt like trying to imagine a sandwich of jelly and anchovies—shoving something sweet with something nasty and hoping for the best. You were more likely to make the sandwich melt.

He started humming without realizing it, and before he knew it, Rachel was singing softly along with him. They both quickly rose to in volume and jumped off the bed, dancing with ridiculous grins, as no one could resist when singing Prince.

(**Mike**, _Rachel_, _**both**_)

_I was dreaming when I wrote this_

_Forgive me if it goes astray_

**But when I woke up this morning**

** Could've sworn it was judgement day**

_ The sky was all purple_

_ There were people running everywhere_

_**Trying to run from the destruction**_

_** You know I didn't even care **__  
_

'_Cuz they say __**two thousand zero zero party over,**_

_**Oops out of time**_

**So tonight**_** I'm going to party like it's 1999  
**_

**I was dreaming when I wrote this**

**So sue me if I go too fast**_  
But life is just a party, and parties weren't meant to last  
_**War is all around us, my mind says prepare to fight**_  
__**So if I gotta die I'm going to listen to my body tonight**_

_Yeah, they say __**two thousand zero zero party over,  
Oops out of time  
**_**So tonight**_** I'm gonna party like it's 1999  
**__Yeah_

_We could all die any day (_**1999**_)  
I don't wanna die,  
I'd rather dance my life away (_**1999**_)  
Listen to what I'm trying to say  
Everybody, everybody say party  
C'mon now, you say party  
_**That's right, everybody say**_ (party)_

**Sing it for your nation baby**_ (party)_

And so they'd finished, falling back onto the bed.

"You should go," Rachel told him again. When Mike shrugged, she shook her head. "Really; they'll notice if you're not there, and _one _of us should have a chance at a big high school party." He hated that she sounded wistful, and he wished he could bring her with; but that would've been like bringing a lamb to slaughter, and they both knew it.

Instead, he figured he'd go, come back, and give a full report of the goings on of the party, which he knew she'd want. So he stood reluctantly and had her all but push him out the door.

He showed up on the front door of God knows who's house, and could hear the music blasting from inside. He didn't bother knocking, because who was going to hear him? Instead he just made his way into the house, looking for Puck or Finn or someone he knew. He heard Karofsky's voice booming from the kitchen and followed it, figuring that he might as well start where the alcohol was.

Well; that was easy enough. In the kitchen he'd found the entire defensive line playing Flip Cup, JV vs. Varsity, and just outside he could see Puck going at it like a fiend with Santana, and Finn talking to Quinn, and…crap, he could never remember that other blonde chick's name that ran around with them. The one that was sweet, but dumb as a post (and that might be insulting to the post).

"Hey Asian!" Karofsky yelled as Mike meandered into the room. Mike had to work to keep from rolling his eyes. The stupid jock had taken to refusing to call him by his actual name, which he felt attributed to his stupidity—I mean, really? He couldn't remember "Mike" or "Chang"? It wasn't like his name was Yifan or Jun or anything that took longer than a millisecond to process. It was _Mike Chang_, for Pete's sake. It really irritated him, but, as a new freshman, taking it was about all he could do.

Mike realized his internal rant had prevented him from hearing what the meathead had been saying, and pulled himself back to the present when the Varsity jock shouted, "Hey Chink—I said grab me a beer!" Mike shrugged and went to fetch (ah, the joy of the popularity hierarchy), keeping his face indifferent as he heard the asshole mutter, "Damn freshman."

After being a good little retriever, Mike grabbed himself a beer and walked over to where Finn and Quinn were sitting. He smiled at the other blonde, whose face lit up when he looked at her. He exchanged pleasantries for awhile with everyone, and then noticed the girl—_Brittany!_ he finally remembered—batting her eyelashes at him. She inclined her head towards the stairs and grabbed his hand, and Mike, being a fourteen-year old male after all, followed.

She'd taken him to an empty bedroom and basically had started kissing him before the door had even shut. _Wow_, was all Mike could think. Besides Rachel, girls didn't really pay much attention to him; he just didn't talk enough to make himself that noticeable. Apparently Brittany did though, because she barely came up for air.

They'd been making out for maybe half an hour (he'd easily made it up her shirt- no bra, he'd noticed) when a drunken Karofsky threw open the door. Mike blushed, but Brittany had zero shame, just continued nibbling at his neck (not the best _timing_, but it was awesome).

"Asian," he slurred drunkenly. "Out in the yard—now."

Mike was irritated as he pulled his jacket on. At first he wondered if he was being singled out, but then he saw the entire JV team standing out front. Puck—dressed in only a pair of boxers—and a few others looked ecstatic, others like Finn and himself just looked confused.

"Your jock brother Puck here has brought up an excellent suggestion," Azimio, another Varsity defensive tackle spoke up, facing the freshman in various levels of dress. "Guy," he shouted, addressing a jock as he approached with a bag of balloons. He smiled at the team in front of him. "Men; I hope you've had a lot to drink—tonight, we attack."

* * *

Mike couldn't believe it; it was one in the morning, and they were driving around in the back of a truck with a drunk junior driving. On top of that, they'd spent the last half hour filling up water balloons with…he cringed just thinking about it. This had to be Puck's most sadistic idea yet. Luckily, it seemed, they were too drunk to notice that anyone that they'd want to hit with…_pee balloons_ was very unlikely to be wandering around in the middle of the night.

"Oh! Oh!" Puck shouted, still clad only in boxers. Of course he'd had no trouble whipping out his dick in front of everyone. He'd probably made the suggestion just so he could. Not that Mike had penis-envy or anything (_that_ Asian stereotype at least was totally false in his case); but it was still kind of humiliating to piss into water balloons in front of a bunch of chicks and guys.

"Let's throw one at Hummel's house!" the mohawked freshman shouted. His suggestion was received with cheers as they turned onto the poor kid's street and launched quite a few foul-smelling balls at the place.

"Now that Ryan kid!" someone shouted from inside the truck. As they continued throwing out names (and balloons), Mike found himself feeling worse and worse; if they were starting to form a list of lower classmen to terrorize, it was only a matter of time until—

"Oh!" Karofsky shouted. "Let's get Berry!" Again with the cheers, and as the truck made an abrupt one-eighty, Mike felt sick in more ways than one.

As they drove down the street, however, Mike saw his saving grace. Apparently, in their inebriated state, the jack-asses surrounding him weren't quite sure which house belonged to his friend. Mike thought quickly and, saying a quick apology to Mrs. Randall, launched a balloon at the house next door with a holler.

The idiots, thinking he'd chosen the right house, quickly followed _en suite_, and then continued on their way. Eventually, thank God, they ran out of balloons and made their way back to the Cheerios and the remaining kids.

When they'd parked, Mike slipped out. Even with an awesome make-out session with Brittany, this party _sucked_, and he just wanted to go to sleep.

* * *

Rachel heard a scratch against her window. Startled, her eyes popped open as the glass slid up, and then, as she recognized the figure crawling in, she closed them again.

"Humph," she muttered. "Late."

"Early," Mike corrected her, grabbing the sweats that she'd pulled out of her dad's drawer and laid on a rolled-out sleeping bag on the floor.

"Have fun?" she whispered as she listened to him change and flop onto her bed.

"I made out with a Cheerio who probably can't spell her name, and vandalized your next-door neighbor's property with urine; what do you think?" he murmured sleepily.

"Huh…wait, what?" Rachel sat up, causing her friend to groan. "You did what to whom?"

"Take a whiff outside," he told her, face still buried in her pillow.

Rachel sat up and walked to her window. She didn't even have to stick her head out as a breeze brought up a foul odor. She crinkled her nose, slammed the window shut, and strode over to her friend, stealing his pillow and smacking him with it.

"What on earth possessed you guys to _do_ such a thing?" she whispered angrily.

"Puck's suggestion on the damn balloons," he groaned, sitting up. "I was just trying to save you some clean-up."

Rachel's mouth fell open in shock. And she'd thought the pornographic pictures in the bathroom stalls and the dumpster toss was bad…

"I can't believe…" she began, trailing off as she began reassessing what high school would be for her.

Mike watched her gape, staring outside at nothing in particular. He felt horrible. It wasn't like there was really anything he could do for her; he just didn't have that kind of sway. He walked over to her and guided her back to bed. Then he made his way downstairs and poured her and himself a glass of water: water always seemed to help her feel better, and he needed to rehydrate desperately. When they'd finished, he turned off the light, collapsing onto the floor and wriggling into the sleeping bag.

She wasn't sleeping, and knew he wasn't just yet either. Her thoughtful silences were loud enough to keep him awake, he'd told her once.

"Mike?"

He nodded into the darkness; with anybody else (except Matt) it would've been a stupid gesture, but she knew him well enough to feel it.

Rachel sighed. "Things are going to be different now, aren't they?" she asked him. He said nothing, but she'd gradually been realizing it all summer. "You're going to be one of them: dating a Cheerio; hanging out with the popular kids all the time. This—" she gestured at the two of them "—it's just not going to work, is it?"

Mike's silence was heavy, and she knew she was right. Despite how they'd been able to make their friendship work over the past three years, high school was going to change things; change them. He'd be obligated to hang out with the jocks, and date a cheerleader, and people would notice if he was somewhere deemed undesirable, like a performance or her house. If he talked to her without a sneer, it wouldn't go unnoticed. Once again, the caste system was forcing them to separate—her into isolation, him into a faceless sheep.

She sighed again and rolled over, closing her eyes. She just hoped that high school ended quickly.


	5. Freshman Year Age Fourteen cont

Rachel learned the first week of freshman year that all hopes about school ending in a blur were wishful thinking; as she stepped into the halls of McKinley High as a student for the very first time, only to be greeted with multiple cherry slushies thrown straight into her face by David Karofsky and company. She learned quickly to pack an extra pair of clothes.

She also learned that all of her training with bullies in grade school was nothing compared to here. There were more jocks and cheerleaders, more access, and more resources for them to work with. The pee balloons Mike had saved her house from before found her within a month, and the graffiti in the bathroom, the verbal abuse, only got worse. She was strong, and an excellent actress, but she could only take so much before needing to rush to the bathroom to recollect herself.

On top of that, just like when they were six, she missed her friend. Mike was obligated by his status, as she'd suspected he would be: he hung out with the jocks every waking minute and started dating Brittany, a blonde bimbo Cheerio whom Rachel only didn't dislike because she didn't throw slushies (unlike her BFFs Santana and Quinn). She just wished that he was around for support; to keep her distracted from the pain that was the bottom of the social ladder.

Mike, meanwhile, was getting annoyed. He hated what the jocks did to Rachel; he had to witness it every day. And while dating Brittany turned out to be okay (despite being a few watts short of a lit bulb, she was really nice and sweet and would make out pretty much any time he wanted), he missed a real conversation that didn't revolve around who was cute or popular or what her cat was doing while she wasn't looking. And he wanted desperately to help his friend, to prove that, even though he couldn't hang out with her right now, she was _still_ his friend.

When the pee balloons came back out, that was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. He actually winced when he saw Rachel get hit, watched her bravely act as if it didn't make her want to cry as the damn jocks laughed and cheered at their malice.

His first opportunity came at the football party that Saturday. He never understood why they celebrated afterward—they always lost. However, he figured drinking booze was drinking booze to these idiots, and they didn't care what the reason was.

He grabbed a cup and wandered around the room until he caught up with Matt. His friend was watching Puck do a keg stand as the rest of the team counted the seconds.

"…27…28…29…yeah!" The group cheered as he jumped down and sloppily kissed his Latina, pulling her inside the house. He then saw Karofsky leading some chick upstairs and suddenly had a jolt of inspiration.

He glanced over at Matt, now meeting his intense gaze with curiosity. Mike merely inclined his head toward the jocks that had just disappeared to the next floor. Matt's eyebrows arched as he smirked at the unspoken suggestion, and his friend nodded sincerely. With a shrug of assent, the other nonchalantly walked away.

Mike quietly made his way up the stairs. He was actually really glad this party was being held at a Cheerio residence, or this wouldn't pay off nearly as well. He tip-toed down the hall, opening doors just a crack as he tried to find the right ones.

Karofsky's certainly wasn't hard to locate—the guy had grabbed himself a screamer. Mike would've thought it'd be embarrassing if the music wasn't blaring downstairs. Lucky for him though; the noise she was making was so distracting that Mike sneaking in and out was completely unnoticed by the jock and his girl.

Puck's was a little harder. Apparently Santana liked variety, and Mike actually blushed at the fact that he had to watch to find an opening. He knew Santana was much more likely to notice an intrusion than Puck, who had a one-track mind about just about everything, so he found himself paying attention to her, and thanked his stars when she threw the guy against a wall.

Mike almost lost his train of though, because that was _really _hot; especially the way her toned arms gripped—_okay_, he told himself. _Back to business_.

Mike grabbed what he came for and started back down the stairs. When he made eye contact with Matt, the Asian gave his friend a nod and listened as the guy "accidentally" pushed Finn into the pool. They both felt bad about it; but Finn, clumsy as they came, was just too easy of a target for a group distraction, and that was exactly what Mike needed as he slipped out the door.

* * *

Rachel actually _was_ surprised when her window slid open that night. She hadn't seen Mike (besides with his clique) since summer ended, and now, here he was, climbing into her room, carrying…something. She sat up, fumbling with her lamp as she turned on the light: what _was_ that?

She gasped when she realized what he was holding. Jerseys, pants, boxers—his wide grin implied they definitely belonged to someone else, and all she could sputter was, "What did you _do_?"

Still beaming in triumph, he tossed the jerseys on the bed, the rest on the floor; she looked at the numbers and quickly identified them as Noah's and David's.

"You stole their clothes?" she asked, half in disgust, half in awe. Mike—her quiet, docile _Mike_—had apparently swiped her tormentors' apparel.

"I figured it was a fair trade for all of yours that they'd ruined," he replied, sitting next to her on the bed.

Rachel didn't say a word, head spinning as his grin grew wider. She knew she couldn't condone this, but simultaneously couldn't stop the returning smile that colored her face. They leaned back and laughed until they could barely breathe.

The next morning, she awoke in surprise to find Mike curled up next to her, still fully dressed. It took her a moment (and the pile of clothes next to the window) to remember the events of last night. She smiled, in fact beamed as she felt this huge weight lifting off her chest—he was still here, and maybe things were still _more_ complicated than usual, but he was here. She began singing softly to the sleeping footballer/dancer next to her.

"I'll keep you my dirty little secret" she whispered, and smirked as she heard him mutter, still half-asleep, "Dirty little secret."

"Don't tell anyone or you'll be just another regret," she continued.

"Just another regret," Mike's voice barely audible through the pillow.

"Hope that you can keep it, my dirty little secret," Rachel smiled. "Who has to know? When we live such fragile lives, it's the best way we survive. I go around a time or two, just to waste my time with you."

She sat up in her bed, beginning her morning stretches with a little more jazz than usual as she continued, "Tell me all that you've thrown away. Find out games you don't want to play." And she laughed as she heard her best friend trying to harmonize with her without actually waking up. "You are the only one that needs to know."

She found herself dancing around the room, because who wouldn't after waking up in such a light mood? "I'll keep you my dirty little secret."

Mike had finally rolled over, smiling up at her while still lying on his back. "Dirty little secret," he echoed.

"Don't tell anyone or you'll be just regret," she told him, both grinning as he echoed, "Just another regret."

"Hope that you can keep it, my dirty little secret, my dirty little secret," she sang as she trotted to the bathroom, finishing "Who has to know?" before she shut the door and jumped into the shower.

Mike sat up, smiling broadly. "Who has to know?" he repeated to himself, trotting downstairs to grab a garbage bag for the clothes he'd stolen.

Mike was very proud for standing up for Rachel, and himself, in the little way he did. He tossed the clothes and grinned Monday morning as he listened to Karofsky and Puck get no end of shit from Tanaka about losing their jerseys. Plus he heard they'd had quite the time trying to get home drunk at two in the morning in borrowed towels.

Best of all, he and Rachel found that they could stay friends, in their own, skewed way. All-American Rejects became _their_ band; "Dirty Little Secret" their anthem to keep their relationship strong as they made it through freshman year on opposite ends of the spectrum. Rachel insisted he stop trying to seek retribution for every offense, but seemed to give her friend free reign in deciding when a line had been crossed. Mike had to admit his and Matt's—he had to give his man his due—little acts of payback were quite brilliant: his favorite by far was putting No Bite, that bitter-polish used to discourage nail-biting- on the kegs at one of Puck's parties, causing everyone to think the alcohol had gone bad. The self-proclaimed badass had thrown it all out and lost a lot of money, and no one had even thought that anyone, much less the quiet jocks, had had a hand in it.

He also found that dating Brittany turned out to be really useful in his continued friendship. Brittany's idea of a commitment lasted about as long as sex, though she seemed to cycle back to him frequently because he was nice to her. Regardless, she never asked questions when he told her he was leaving, and apparently didn't notice that by leaving, he meant the party.

Mike Chang and Rachel Berry couldn't wait for high school to end, but at least they had each other until it did.


	6. Sophmore Year Age Sixteen

**A/N: These chapters deal with a lot of Mike's inner struggle between sheep mentality and doing that pesky subjective "right thing". High school, right? But he's a good guy, so give him a break. And yes- Rachel is a drama queen; but she's awesome and I love her and I get it (hence all of the justification).**

* * *

If someone had told a freshman Mike Chang that as a sophomore he'd be publicly walking the line between cool and social pariah—that same line he'd been working so hard in private to tread by being friends with Rachel Berry for so many years—he'd never have believed it. Maybe he should thank Kurt. I mean, who else but that kid could kick ass as a kicker while being awesome in Glee?

Rachel didn't actually watch football, but he'd shown her the dance and she'd helped him as much as she could when they'd hung out. She also told him about Glee, about Mr. Schuester and the solo and how much it hurt. Rachel just wanted someone on her side; someone that could give her a push to make her feel like she'd accomplished something besides what she already knew she was capable of.

"Maria is me," she told him, lost in that deep thoughtfulness that kept him awake despite the fact that it was three in the morning, and Mike was both buzzed and exhausted. However, she was his friend, and he would stay up all night if she asked. "I just need something I can count on…why doesn't he see that?"

Rachel rolled over and he hears her drift off. Her last statement wasn't meant to be pointed, but it punches Mike in the stomach. They'd been friends since sixth grade, he'd always told himself. Whenever Mike thought about people he could count on unconditionally, Rachel had always been right up front with Matt and family. It was now, lying in a sleeping bag in her house, her father's away on business, that he realized that it wasn't the same for her: he was only her friend here, in the privacy of her room, sometimes (rarely) in his. Only Matt really knew that they hung out, and while he liked Rachel, he never said a word pushing Mike toward or away from her. He lay awake in realization that he was probably the crappiest friend ever.

Mike Chang had the worst night's sleep physically possible that night.

When he's telling the story later, he'll say he thought about it over the weekend and decided he didn't care what other people thought. After all, since Finn came out and gave that crazy speech about everyone being a loser and doing what he wanted, the thought had rolled in his mind more often than not. However, if he was really honest, he had still been on the fence until Matt decided to join, and Matt didn't decide to join until Puck did. And at the time no one had any clue what convinced the self-proclaimed badass to join Glee.

When Mike and Matt walked into the room, joining Glee, willing to be seen in public with Rachel for the first time in ten years, she'd thought _this is it; things are finally looking up_. In those precious moments, she could actually see things play out: balancing Glee and _Cabaret_ perfectly; not being afraid for Mike or herself if she talks to him in the hall; him (and maybe a taller, slightly awkward male lead) sitting in front row as he (or they) applaud her stellar performance. Everything was going to be better; she was sure of it.

Mike watched Rachel's face in those moments: he could tell she was excited that he's there, saw that she'd been ecstatic to sing…except then she left. Her face resilient, but he knew her better. He remembered hearing the Asian girl's song (and he cannot believe he just referred to her as _the Asian girl_—like that's not all sorts of hypocritical), and he remembered sneaking into her house on a school night, as she's coming out of the bathroom. Her eyes were still a little puffy from tears, and his heart breaks for her. She loves _Cabaret_, he knew: she's ready to stand out. But it's not the same and they both know it.

* * *

"How could you not tell me?" Rachel's voice resonates in the room. Rachel knew she was being melodramatic—of all people, this was truly unnecessary with Mike. Mike could tell exactly everything about her by just looking at her; all of this theatricality, with the exception of being integral to herself as a person, was just redundant around him.

However, right now, she didn't care. She felt like she'd been lied to, humiliated, by everyone that mattered, and now she wanted answers. So she stared him down, waiting for those all-knowing eyes to explain her pain.

Mike knew he shouldn't have come; not tonight. Not after knowing what Finn had planned to get her back to Glee, knowing about Quinn, knowing everything; because no one noticed him listening except Matt and Rachel, and even they didn't expect him to know as much as he did. And now his best friend was asking him how he could have just watched her get played.

What could he say? He'd allowed himself to fall into the same sheep mentality he'd had with the jocks: Rachel was what they needed to win—so he allowed them to do what it took to get her back. Okay; Finn's idea had been a little skuzzy, but it wasn't until she'd stared at him now, the hurt evident in her eyes, that he realized the extent of what had happened.

Rachel was in love with Finn Hudson. Not infatuated with some popular guy or a guy that sang well; she loved _him_. She knew as well as Mike did that he was a little simple, and found great importance in being popular. But, just like she did with Mike, she somehow saw straight past all of that into a bunch of romanticized words like _soul_ and _heart_ and whatnot—she saw Finn, the same way she'd always seen Mike. And she was in love with what she saw. Worse still, he realized talking to her; to some degree Finn was in love with her—Finn, with a pregnant girlfriend.

Mike faltered, completely and utterly. Rachel could see even his eyes couldn't convey why he'd allowed this to happen, and she collapsed in a heap on the bed, sobbing. She let him wrap his arms around her, both knowing that she wasn't happy where she was, but was too stubborn to come back. Cabaret wasn't what she wanted, but April had taken her place, and (if they were being truthful) neither were positive that the other Glee kids wanted her back. He knew that last part hurt the worst.

They didn't talk that night; didn't dance or sing. He just held her, let her cry into exhaustion as they fell asleep in her tiny bed.


	7. Sophmore Year Age Sixteen cont

Sometimes Mike found it amusing how things sometimes turned out.

He'd been afraid of publicly approaching Rachel for years, afraid of people knowing they were friends. Now that he was in Glee, he had assumed that the two of them would just migrate toward each other. However, he hadn't taken into account who they were in public—she was a leader, outspoken, structured; he was loose, quiet- a sheep really. And now, even though they _could_ hang out during school, they still found themselves running in different circles. He realized that no one figured them to be close because the popular kids assumed he was with Matt or at home when he wasn't with them, and the Glee kids thought he was with the popular kids. And basically everyone thought Rachel had no friends, so if she wasn't with Finn, they assumed she was alone. So they went through school like they always had, not really acknowledging each other, and most weekends he (and sometimes other best friend Matt Rutherford) would go to her place and hang out, unbeknownst by all.

Now Sectional's were fast approaching, and Rachel was ecstatic. Even though the set list hadn't been finished yet, she was confident in their chances. However, she was bothered by her sixth sense: something was up with Puck and Quinn—she knew it. And her feeling that the others already knew was heightened since Mike became quieter than usual (if that was possible) whenever she brought it up.

One night Mike had crept into her room as usual, and she was rambling about everything and nothing as usual. She knew he was only half listening, and so she allowed herself to slip into thinking out loud.

"There's something going on with them," she said, staring at the ceiling. "I mean, there's concerned, and then there's Puck." She rolled onto her stomach. "I just need a way to _prove_ it..."

"Rache," Mike told her, sitting up. "You're over-thinking this; there's nothing to prove. Just let sleeping dogs lie."

He'd realized when Quinn's scandal broke—that Puck was the father, and she was using Finn—that they couldn't tell Rachel. Rachel was a strong proponent of honesty, not to mention she had a personal interest in Finn. And he just wanted things to stay uncomplicated (or as uncomplicated as they got with a pregnant teen in Glee). IT was drama like this that made him glad people didn't know about him and Rachel: keeping his own mouth shut was one thing; but trying to convince her to stay quiet (which he was sure they would have considered doing if they'd known about them) was all but impossible.

Apparently, though, something he'd said (or the emphasis with which he'd said it) tipped her off. She stared at him suspiciously.

"You know something," she stated. He couldn't lie to her, so he kept silent. "Do the others know?" _Crap_, he repeated in his head over and over as he remained mum. "You're Finn's friend," she told him accusingly. "If something's going on that affects his life this dramatically, don't you think he should know?"

Mike was stuck between a rock and a hard place. On top of that, he felt like shit because she was right. But this tell-all wasn't going to happen, and so he did the only thing he could think of to prevent it. "Rachel, be honest," he told her, meeting her gaze evenly. "This isn't about you caring about what's best for Finn; you just hate that he's with Quinn all but permanently now, and you're desperate to break them up because you want him to run to you in some slow-motion cliché movie scenario."

He watched Rachel's eyes reflect the sting of the comment, and dealt the kill shot. "Face it: _Finn chose Quinn_, and you just need to accept that." He rolled over and shut his eyes, listening to the painful silence between them.

* * *

Rachel had waited until she was almost completely sure she was right. And when she'd told Finn, she honestly wasn't sure what she expected to have happen. Despite what Mike had accused her of, she'd known he wouldn't run straight from Quinn's arms into hers, but she certainly hadn't expected him to just attack Puck and then abruptly quit Glee.

She felt awful, knowing that they were going down and it was her fault. She didn't even complain when Jacob joined as their twelfth, feeling it was a just punishment for her betrayal of the club.

She didn't move from her curled position on the bed when she heard the sound of her window sliding open, followed by two sets of feet. She didn't react when she heard Matt leave the room (probably to grab something from the kitchen) and Mike sit next to her, his hand on her shoulder.

"If we lose, it'll be all my fault," she whispered to Mike as they sat on her bed. "I just thought...I don't know what I was thinking…"

Mike knew what she had been thinking. It was the same thing he had thought: Finn didn't deserve this. I mean, people came down on him for believing he'd gotten Quinn pregnant in a hot tub, but he knew that if Rachel had told him that he'd gotten her pregnant in an equally impossible way, he would've believed _her_ too. With some people, you just physically can't believe that they would lie to you. Rachel had just been the only one brave enough to think someone's life was more important than winning (although he knew she had other motivations as well).

Matt came back in, carrying a plate with two leftover enchiladas, two sodas, and a glass of water, the latter which he handed off to Mike. He coaxed Rachel up and gave it to her, and he and Matt ate their meal in silence. They'd pretty much gotten used to vegan, since it was all that was in the refrigerator. Six-year old Rachel had been right—it didn't taste _that_ different from the real thing.

Rachel was the first to finish her drink, and sniffled, speaking softly. "I'm so sorry guys; you were right."

She watched Matt give her a basic shrug—he was a very forgiving type. She probably could blow up the Chrysler Building and he'd let her off easy.

Mike, however, didn't meet her eyes. She remembered him telling her to lay off, and wished she had. She had just been so certain that the truth was the right thing…

"So were you," she heard him reply softly, and she was stunned. He looked up and placed a hand on her shoulder. "We were so busy worrying about Quinn and the club, nobody thought about the fact that we were messing with Finn's life—except you."

They sat there for a few moments in silence, processing and dealing. Then Matt, being Matt, pulled Rachel to her feet and dragged her downstairs to the living room.

"This is way too depressing," he told them, rummaging through her Karaoke choices as Mike, a smile coloring his face, began pushing aside the furniture. "We've got school for that."

Rachel couldn't help but smile as he handed off the microphone and he and Mike faced each other. She couldn't help but wonder if anyone else had ever seen the boys in their mini-dance offs.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed play, feeling her smile brighten as the familiar music, _their_ _band_, started blaring, and the two boys rotated through trying to one up one another while singing vocals.

(_Rachel_, **Mike**, Matt, _**all**_)

_Don't solve the problem,  
When danger is better.  
Far away where you stock them,  
In cages that tether_

_And all the bridges you've burned,  
Leave you trapped off at all sides.  
Now the tables do turn,  
And it's all gone, what's left for you._

_**And when the sky is falling,  
Don't look outside the window.  
Step back and hear I'm calling.  
Give up, don't take the fast road.  
It's just your doubt that blinds you.**_  
_Just drop those thoughts behind you, now_. (**now**)  
_Change your mind.  
Let go too soon.  
_  
**Sit down, you're sinking,  
there's no one to watch you.**  
Skip time, you're thinking,  
there's no one to stop you.

_And all the bridges you've burned,  
leave you trapped off at all sides.  
And now the tables do turn,  
and it's all gone, what's left for you._

_**And when the sky is falling,  
Don't look outside the window.  
Step back and hear I'm calling.  
Give up, don't take the fast road.  
It's just your doubt that blinds you.**_  
_Just drop those thoughts behind you, now_. (**now**)  
**Change your mind**_.  
Let go too soon._

Don't run away,  
Start feeling fine.  
It's better than your worst, your worst day._  
No words to say, I'll give you mine,_  
_And pocket all the hurt, and just stay._**  
**_Don't run away._  
**It's better than your worst, your worst day.**

_**And when the sky is falling,  
Don't look outside the window.  
Step back and hear I'm calling.  
Give up, don't take the fast road.  
It's just your doubt that blinds you.**_  
_Just drop those thoughts behind you, now_. (**now**)  
_Change your mind.  
Let go too soon._

_(_**Don't run away**_)_

_Change your mind._

_Let go too soon._

_(_**Don't run away**_)_

_Change your mind._

The song ended, and Mike pounded fists with his friend, the quiet jock that always knew the right thing to do, before he crossed the room and hugged Rachel, the outspoken starlet who smiled softly as the songs cathartic effect left her exhausted. Together, the three of them clambered back upstairs and fell asleep, maybe ready to face the morning.

* * *

**A/N: song is All-American Rejects, Change Your Mind. **


	8. Sophmore Year Age Sixteen part 3

After Sectional's, Mike didn't see Rachel much. He and Matt Rutherford had decided to do a guy's night in celebration, and she'd whole-heartedly agreed with his need for what she called "a testosterone-sponsored evening". It hadn't been anything special: he'd gone to a party, had sex with Brittany, then stayed at Matt's, where they'd watched movies and played video games all Sunday. Simple in its concept, but awesome in execution. Afterwards, his family had gone to visit family in Michigan for the break, and he'd just decided to take a break from life in general and enjoy the lack of drama.

Unfortunately that meant he didn't realize the aftermath of Rachel's winner buzz until school started up again. He saw Rachel enthusiastically latch herself to Finn, while _he_ looked… uncertain. Mike had a gut feeling this was going south fast, but didn't bring it up. He didn't want to see her hurt, but couldn't think of what to say that would help. So he and Matt found themselves watching and waiting for the train wreck.

* * *

Rachel stormed through the halls, biting back tears. She was furious and disappointed and all sorts of jumbled feelings, and just wanted to get as far away from everything as possible. As she passed the boy's locker room she spied Matt and Mike strolling out, making light conversation. She made an impulsive decision and marched up to them both, grabbing their hands and leading them to the nearest girl's room. She didn't miss the look of sympathetic non-surprise on both of their faces, but ignored it until they were alone.

When they'd made it inside (both boys shifting uncomfortably at the location), she whirled to face them.

"Are either of you dating Brittany right now?" she demanded. They looked at each other, and Mike shook his head ever so slightly. Her stomach dropped, but she pushed "Santana?"

They didn't answer, knowing that by then she didn't expect them to. They just watched her with concerned expressions as she slid to the floor, eyes downcast. Mike made a gesture and his friend nodded, walking out the door. He slid next to Rachel and put his arm around her.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "You want me to beat the hell out of him?"

She shook her head softly, the smile on her face only there to humor him. She pushed herself to her feet with him following, and she gave him a hug and walked back out the door.

Mike was pissed to say the least. He wanted to walk up to Finn and demand he figure out his priorities and fast; that Rachel deserved better than to be pulled around like a puppy on a leash. However, he had decided upon starting high school that covert was really more his style than-in-your-face confrontation, and so he quickly made his way through the halls. He grinned when he spotted his target sans best friend.

He walked up to Brittany and took her hand, tugging her toward a utility closet. He wasn't sure if she'd resist; after all she was going on a date with Finn. But apparently the thought escaped her, as did so many, because as soon as the door closed she allowed him to kiss her, slowly trailing up her sweet spot—her armpits—to loosen her tongue (no pun intended).

"You busy this week?" he murmured as he moved to her lips. He wondered for a split second if this constituted as using and was therefore wrong.

"I have a date with Santana and Finn Thursday night," she whispered, finding his lips again and giggling.

"Finn?" he went for surprise, though he doubted she'd notice if he wasn't. He found himself falling on old habits as his hand started up her shirt- this was quickly encroaching on immoral activity.

"Coach Sylvester's orders to break up him and Rachel, but Santana's idea for both of us to go," she explained breathlessly between kisses, not noticing Mike freeze in shock at the info. He was roused (in more ways than one) as she started unzipping his pants and immediately decided that morals were no longer an issue.

Mike and Brittany ended up skipping that period, and as he led her back into the halls for the last class of the day he considered his options. He couldn't really be mad at _her_—it was like punishing a kitten for biting you; she just didn't know any better. However, he could be pissed at Finn, who in his mind should have known something was up when _Santana and Brittany_ both asked him out on the _same date_, and decided to do something about it.

"Hey Britt?" he said to her before she left him to go find Santana. "You know what'd be really hot for your date with Santana and Finn?" He waited a beat for her to remember the event he was mentioning. "You should make sure _you're_ having fun. So do those things you love to do: place the hottest guys in the school, make out with each other—all of that. Just like when it's just you and San."

He wasn't lying; it was kind of hot when she and Santana went off in their own little worlds on double dates (especially when he placed top three on their lists). However, Mike had always had Matt (or Puck) along for the ride, and he knew Finn, especially alone, wouldn't know how to handle those girls even if they were on their best behavior. So, feeling better about himself, he gave her a light kiss and a smack on the ass as she skipped merrily off to her locker.

As he walked into the choir room at the end of the day, Mike saw Rachel perched in the back row, glaring at Santana and Brittany as they fawned over Finn. He wondered if anybody besides Finn bought their exaggerated interest in—what the hell was he even talking about? He felt bad and started thinking that maybe he hadn't done enough to help her. Mike took his seat above them and began working on a contingency plan if his Operation Crap Date didn't work.

"Alright guys; got to get moving on those "hello" numbers," Mr. Schue greeted them, placing his bag on the piano. "Who has got something to show us?"

What came next happened almost too quickly for Mike to notice. One moment he was looking at Rachel looking at Finn (looking at Santana and Brittany); the next she met his gaze and he could have sworn he saw a flash of crazy in her eye.

Rachel had been livid as she watched them: Brittany smiling and nodding like an idiot and Santana twirling her hair and slouching provocatively. It was so ridiculous, so fake. And Finn didn't even seem to notice. She barely heard Mr. Schue walk in, but she did notice Mike meet her eyes with concern.

_You want me to beat the hell out of him? _

Something flashed in her mind. She didn't need this; she was a young ingénue. And as she heard Mr. Schue ask for volunteers on the assignment, her hand shot up, ready to show him just what he'd lost.

When the music started, it wasn't that Mike didn't recognize it; more that he didn't understand why she was using it.

Rachel's eyes bored into Finn's. She may not have him, but she had _so_ much more, so screw it.

"I wake up every evening, with a big smile on my face—and it never feels out of place," she told him.

As she continued, Mike and Matt made eye contact. Matt was grinning, and in their silent way he clued Mike in. They both started grooving in their seats to the song that was _theirs_, that showed the world (without the world knowing) that the Finn's and Puck's, the Quinn's and Santana's were not going to drag them down—period.

She grinned as she approached Matt and the others. He had had her number the instant the song started, and so he had been completely on board with her musical rant. As she sang, sitting between Tina and Mercedes, then up again with Artie, she realized she wanted to do something crazy, something completely unusual for her.

Mike watched as she pranced about the room, lost in his own happy form of expression. He thought this Rachel was awesome, and that he was ready for whatever she came up with next. And then she pushed Artie across the room, pointing directly at him with a face that could mean nothing besides _here and now_.

Mike looked at Matt for a moment. There was a reason they'd almost never danced together, even in choreography. Rachel was a lead singer, first of all, but also she was technical—a ballerina, a student of structure and precision. Matt and Mike, though now both pushed by her into taking various dance classes to add range to their natural talent, were very freeform. He was loose and fluid and, until apparently now, this had usually kept them apart on the floor.

But this wasn't prim and proper Rachel Berry. This was pissed off Rachel Berry, singing a song they'd listened to countless times in her house. And he was Mike Chang, dancing the vibe that he could feel emanating off of her, his arms and body flying everywhere.

And this was them together, her using the real Finn in his chair and the Finn projected onto him as she sang and he moved around her.

"_Now you'll never see_

_What you've done to me_

_You can take back your memories they're no good to me_

_And here's all your lies, you can look me in the eyes_

_With that sad, sad look that you wear so well_," she finished the last line, her hand on his shoulder, guiding him to the floor; and her foot (and his arms) sending him sailing across the linoleum. He clapped in appreciation, and her eyebrows arched in pleasure at his pleasure.

Suddenly, it was the three of them, circled front and center and _together_, having a field day.

_When you see my face, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!_

And then everyone else was there (except Finn), shimmying and shaking as Mike and Matt started adding more and more embellishments.

_When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!_

_When you find a man that's worth a damn and treats you well (treats you well)_

_Then he's a fool you're just as well hope it gives you hell!_

Rachel spared a glance to Finn, who looked quite incredulous by the whole production. She allowed herself a grin and decided to go for gold, pulling out a chair.

As if by psychic magic, Mike was there, pushing her along the center of two lines of Glee Clubbers as they belted with her.

_When you see my face hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!_

_When you walk my way hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!_

Mike was grinning like an idiot as he stole a glance at Finn, being spoon fed Rachel Berry's own personal brand of revenge. As she stood, he offered her his hand—their ultimate symbolic gesture. He bowed at her prowess as she took it and stood on her chair, everyone else clapping and circling them.

_When you hear this song and sing along oh you'll never tell!_

_Then you're a fool, I'm just as well, hope it gives you hell!_

_When you hear this song I hope that it will give you hell!_

_When you sing along I hope that it will treat you well._

Rachel sat primly as she finished the last note. She glanced back at Finn to make sure the message had been properly received…and then promptly received a lecture from Mr. Schue. _Well_, she thought, _it was fun while it lasted_.

* * *

Mike felt bad that Rachel's good feeling had been so short-lived. As soon as Schue had excused them, she'd whisked off to her car under the pretense of heading to the music store, though likely equally driven by her determination not to watch Finn a second longer than she had to. He'd run after her, sparing a glance at Matt, who nodded in understanding that he'd be taking home two bikes today.

While Rachel drove Mike home, she knew she was rambling. However, this seemed to be one of those times she couldn't stop.

"I just want to know that one day it won't be Quinn or Santana or a skinny, blonde, narrow-nosed perfect popular type," she told him. "I want to know that someday someone is going to pick me and not be ashamed of it." She turned to him slightly. "You know?"

He patted her arm. He knew she was going to find someone; he just had no idea how to convince _her_ of that.

When they reached his house, he turned to face her. Rachel knew he wasn't big on words, so when he said a lot of them, it usually came from a _lot_ of thinking.

"Rachel Barbara Berry," he told her, taking her hand. "Finn's an idiot. And someday—I _promise_ you—you're going to find a guy who realizes how beautiful and talented and smart you are, and he's going to do everything in his power to grab you up and hold on tight." He squeezed her hand. "He'll appreciate you and be proud you're his and probably burst into song to prove it."

He looked at her, and she smiled softly. It wasn't often in their friendship that their roles reversed, and so the fact that he'd left her speechless and smiling always made him happy. He wished that he could somehow always have her happy. That it was within his power to keep her from getting hurt.

The silence stretched on, both looking at each other. Mike decided to take a risk: he leaned forward and met her lips. They were soft, and tasted like strawberries. His hand cupped her face, and he pulled her closer.

Rachel was surprised- and not- about Mike kissing her. She wasn't going to lie and say she'd never thought about it: he was very attractive, and they'd been friends for years. He was very sweet when he kissed her, his hands were gentle against her skin. She could tell by his eyes, even closed, that he cared so much about her. It made her feel special.

Mike had kissed a handful of girls in his life; Rachel was definitely different. She was sweet and trusting; he wondered if she heard a song in her mind when she kissed someone. _Probably_. The thought made him smile.

They pulled apart, smiling shyly, both thinking something, neither wanting to say it first.

Mike figured Rachel's silence was thoughtfulness, so he started. "Were you thinking of Finn?" he asked, remembering what she'd told him about her encounter with Puck earlier in the year.

She smiled embarrassed but shook her head. She honestly was glad she'd only seen Mike when she opened her eyes. It was a sweet kiss, and she didn't want Finn to be there to take away from it.

"But…?"

Rachel wasn't sure what to say, so she dodged him with a question of her own. "You have more experience than me: was it okay?"

He smiled at her, knowing she was avoiding something. On the other hand, so was he. "It was a nice kiss; different, but nice," he told her.

"You're not telling me something."

"So are you."

Rachel sighed. She really hoped he'd understand this. "It just feels like it's lacking—"

"Spark," he finished, and they met eyes, grinning at each other in relief. "Is it Finn?" he asked her. As the best friend, he needed to make sure she was okay.

Rachel shook her head. She knew she probably wasn't over Finn, but she'd known that the zing that wasn't there had nothing to do with the gawky teen. "I think we just may be too…close," she told him, chuckling lightly.

He laughed as well; how funny that a friendship that could stand the test of time (well, school hierarchies, anyway) was also apparently too strong to evolve into a romantic relationship. He reached over and hugged her again, glad that, even if he couldn't save her from a romantic heartbreak, at least he could still be her best friend.


	9. Sophmore Year Age Sixteen part 4

The week before Regional's, Mike debated whether he was a bad friend. It unfortunately wasn't new ground for him to cover, though this time he felt he had a little lee-way.

When Rachel had first started dating Jesse St. James, she'd of course told him. She'd been beyond excited, and, as the best friend, he'd been supportive. Unlike Finn, he had actually watched Vocal Adrenaline performances on YouTube and read up on them on choir blogs: they were into intimidation techniques and they were very competitive, but they'd never been described as underhanded and they really had no reason to try to break New Directions. And, unlike the original Gleeks (as they fondly called themselves), he cared about Rachel's happiness far too much to give her an ultimatum.

It actually wasn't until Jesse transferred to McKinley that Mike started having issues with the guy. It wasn't just that he seriously intruded in their Matt-Mike-Rachel time (to the point that the boys actually hadn't been around much since he'd come into her life); it was also because something about Jesse seemed…staged. Like he was performing for someone, even when no one was watching. However, he and Rachel seemed ridiculously happy (with the exception of that _Run Joey Run_ mess), and as there seemed to be no glitch, Mike decided maybe that just was his personality.

When he dumped Rachel in front of everyone, walking off with VA, Mike was shocked. He couldn't see Rachel's face, but she emanated disbelief and misery; and seeing her slumped on the piano, comparing her broken heart to the stage after a performance of _Stomp_ was just awful.

He rode over to her house that night, a little unsure of whether he should be there. He climbed her trellis and slipped into her room.

Rachel heard him, but couldn't bring herself to move from her crumpled heap on the bed. She'd wanted him to come, and now here he was—why didn't she feel better? Mike used to always make her feel better, feel safe when things sucked. He sang and danced with and for her. He'd pull crazy stunts like stealing clothes and refilling empty beer bottles with water and itching powder in bed sheets for her sake, to make her smile. Now she couldn't even bring herself to acknowledge his presence.

He didn't sit on the bed like he used to; didn't try to reassure her with a hand on her shoulder. He was unsure of how to fix her because he didn't know her to ever be so broken. He didn't know Jesse, so he had no idea how to destroy him, and he could tell that, despite wanting him "eaten by lions", Rachel still loathed violence, and didn't want him damaged physically. Maybe he should have gone with Puck and Finn to exact revenge, but he was so sure Rachel would need him more than they would…

And so they remained in silence, him standing by the window, her lying with her back to him on the bed. She wasn't sure if his comfort was what she wanted, and he was afraid to ask. A fleeting thought crossed both their minds: _how did we get here?_

After ten minutes, Mike turned around and climbed back out the window, down the trellis, and rode home to his bed.

* * *

He didn't notice Rachel Thursday. Honestly, Brittany had completely fallen apart the day before, and she was his: whether they acted that way or not; whether they were exclusive or not. He had taken her to her classes and tried to keep her steady. He'd never seen the Cheerios break down so effectively.

And so he'd spent Thursday checking up on her, making sure their seemingly flawless bounce-back was legit. He'd been exhausted and just decided to duck out of his class, maybe grab a slushie.

He was definitely a little curious when he heard giggling and a lot of engines starting up and driving off: it was too early for most—and too late for those without a last period—to scatter. He followed the sounds and felt his jaw drop when he identified the tiny form standing alone in the lot.

Rachel stood tall, like usual, despite the fact that no one was around to see her being so resilient to the onslaught she'd just suffered. She could feel the goo running through her hair, down her back, and winced as she imagined this to be what chick souls felt like. Tiny, dead, chick souls, and their poor mother hens—God, she could see them when her eyes shut, surrounding her with their judging glares. She opened them again: she'd rather stare at the dismal parking lot.

She heard running footsteps, and wondered for a moment if someone had stayed behind to revive the ambush. Then she heard Mike's voice, calling her name hesitantly. She turned slowly, her face scrunched up in agony, and she watched his face go from disbelief to shock to horror. She wondered if she would have looked like that if she hadn't been busy trying to shield herself from their onslaught.

He didn't say anything, and she was grateful; there was nothing to say, and the normal phrases would've felt empty and callous at this moment. He simply guided her to her car, sitting her in the passenger seat as he drove her home.

He walked her inside and waited downstairs while she showered and changed. He didn't say a word, and neither did she. They were both just numb.

* * *

Mike had never used the term "blood boiling" in his life. It seemed so cliché, and also he didn't ever really get that angry. Until now. Now, listening to his best friend recount her assault to the club, he was pissed and, if he hadn't been so infuriated, he would've been surprised that he really _could_ feel his "blood boiling".

Everyone was thinking it, but it was Puck who said it first. "This is bull!"

He turned to his fellow jocks: "Finn, Matt, Mike—come with me." Nobody needed elaboration as they stood.

"Right on," Finn agreed, fisting his hands and striding toward the door. "It's time for less talking and more punching."

Matt and Mike said nothing; even if they hadn't been normally taciturn, they were both too incensed to do anything but clench their fists, nod, and follow. In some far corner of Mike's mind, he was pleasantly surprised that both Kurt and Artie also moved toward the door.

Rachel was surprised at herself. She decided she must be traumatized or in shock, because the boys (_all_ of the boys) had made for the door with every intention on burying Jesse St. James, and she felt…nothing. No abhorrence to violence; no desire to demand they be rational. She wondered a little at that feeling, the lack of desire to think of the consequences of such actions. And then she realized that Mr. Schue was yelling at the boys, telling them to sit down, that violence was never the answer (a tiny voice in the back of her head seemed sated), and that bringing others pain doesn't ease your own suffering.

After Mr. Schue schooled them in the type of revenge Rachel realized would really hit home for Jesse's type, she drove herself home and crawled into bed. This time, when Mike and Matt crawled through the window, they didn't hesitate to hug their friend in greeting before walking over to the closet, pulling out their respective sleeping bags, and falling asleep. And the next day, while he watched Jesse's face, frozen in horror during their funk number, he spontaneously threw in a split at the end before waddling over to Rachel in a show of solidarity.

Rachel personally felt that Mike's final moves, combined with Puck's "See you punks at Regional's" said it all.

* * *

Rachel was afraid. She'd been afraid early in the week when it seemed they could lose everything with Coach Sylvester judging. She was afraid now, because New Directions _had_ lost, and though she had told Mr. Schuester otherwise, the fact remained that Glee Club was over.

She didn't know what would happen with Finn; he'd told her he loved her, but now, without Glee, how would their relationship stand up to high school terrorism? She wasn't sure he was that strong.

More importantly was Rachel's personal development. She wasn't sure she could go back to being just loner Rachel Berry. She and Mike and Matt may never hang out exclusively in public, but they weren't ashamed to be seen with her anymore and she could see _them_, collaborate with them in public. She wasn't sure she _could_ go back to the way things were, the smoke and mirrors that had dictated her friendships for the last four years.

She wasn't even in bed when Mike slid into her room. She was sitting at her desk, staring at her reflection. He hoped she wasn't feeling too awful; he was pretty messed up himself. He knew he wouldn't have to hide his love for dance anymore, but it didn't have the same zing that it did in Glee Club. He liked being around people and being happy. He liked performing with Matt and Rachel and everyone, and now he felt like he was doomed to slip back into the hierarchy as just another sheep. He hit the bed with a thud. Being a sheep sucked.

She sighed and turned to face him. She was glad he was staring at the ceiling, since she hadn't bothered trying to hide the deep-seated despair that ate her soul.

"What do you think will happen?" she asked in a whisper. He shrugged a Mike shrug, the one that translated into him avoiding thinking about the answer.

"At least you'll still have Matt," she said softly, resting her head on her hands. Mike turned to look at her.

"We'll still have each other, Rache," he told her. "That's not going to change."

"Mike, who are we kidding?" she told him, and he watched as she stood up and began pacing, her voice speeding up and her tone becoming slightly hysterical. "You'll go back to the jocks, because you belong there; you'll go back and play football and make out with Cheerios and be popular, and Karofsky and Azimio will reestablish order by coming down harder than ever on people like Kurt and Artie and Tina and Mercedes and me. And, in order to stay there, they'll make sure you and Matt are in. You won't be able to stay invisible anymore Mike; people will notice if we're friendly, and they won't look on it kindly." She took a breath, her voice shaking. "I…just don't know if…if I can…"

Mike realized what she was saying, and he didn't like it. It was stupid, but it was right—if Glee ended, and he went back to his jock clique, he wouldn't be able to get away with being a spectator anymore. He would have to be an active participant. And then the words he'd just thought himself echoed in his head: _being a sheep sucked_.

"Rache," he told her, gripping her hand and dragging her next to him. "You're right; they would expect all of that. We wouldn't even be able to look at each other neutrally." He looked at her as her eyes glistened with tears. "But the problem is: I can't act like you can. I can't pretend that it doesn't bug me when it does. And if it comes down to going back or hanging with you guys and dealing with all the shit…I just can't go back Rache."

Rachel stared at Mike. He was telling her that he would rather hang out with her than be popular; he was willing to be slushied and taunted and a jock-leper mix just so he could still be friends. She opened her mouth, but was too awed to speak. She contented herself with him pulling her into a tight embrace.

* * *

The next day, when Mike heard the news that Glee had another year to prove itself, he was ecstatic. He wasn't going to lie—as certain as he'd been in his promise to stand by Rachel, he'd been scared for his life about basically jumping off the social ladder. And so now, as he watched his team jump up and down, slapping fives and fist-pounding and hugging and screaming, he was grateful, and happy for the second chance at walking the wire.

Rachel Berry and Mike Chang had survived sophomore year; but more importantly, they'd survived it together. And he promised himself that no one was going to separate them again. She was _that_ important to him, and it was _that_ simple.


End file.
